


Broken Parts, Missing Limbs

by distantstarlight, FoolishAngel1987



Series: Pushing and Pulling [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Agony, Angst, Begging, Bottoming, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feels, Frustration, Gay Sex, Greg Lestrade & John Watson Friendship, Heartbreak, Hurt, I Believe in Sherlock Holmes, Johnlock - Freeform, Lectures, Loss of Trust, M/M, Mrs. Hudson Ships It, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Oral Sex, POV Alternating, Pain, Penises, Post-Reichenbach, Regret, Reichenbach Feels, Relationship(s), Romance, Sacrifice, Sexual Content, Shameless Smut, Sherlock Being an Idiot, Shock, Smut, Tears, Topping, True Love, Trust, Trust Issues, Wooing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 18:11:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1176252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantstarlight/pseuds/distantstarlight, https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoolishAngel1987/pseuds/FoolishAngel1987
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time has gone by and much has changed. Will Baker Street ever be a happy home?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all who have limped painfully through this series, wept their way through one box of tissue after another and then taken the time to tell me how I've ripped your heart out.
> 
> I appreciate the sentiment. Here's your reward.

Sherlock scoured the flat from top to bottom. Everything was exactly as he recalled. Eerily so. John had kept every book in its place, every knickknack and ornament polished and faithfully dusted. In fact the cleanliness was the only thing out of place from when Sherlock had last stood here two years ago. Sherlock went through John's room.

He was undone for several minutes when he buried his face in the wealth of jumpers stored in John's wardrobe. Sherlock struggled to contain himself and forced himself to take careful note of what was there. John's overnight bag was missing. So was his handgun, his box of ammo, both his clips and from the empty hangers at least three of his jumpers and probably at least that many pants. John had packed to be away for a short time but where?

Sherlock inspected the bathroom. John's things were gone. The shower contained John's regular brands of products but the travel kit he kept for sudden trips out of town was no longer under the sink. Sherlock remembered the black leather bag well. John kept it handy for the many times Sherlock had dragged him hither and yon on one case after another. Was John working a case or was Mycroft correct in assuming John went unwillingly.

Sherlock was more than a little surprise when he finally entered his bedroom. It too was exactly the same and as spotlessly clean as the rest of the flat. There on his bureau sat his violin, case closed but the leather of it polished carefully. Sherlock ran his fingers over the gleam before he opened it. It had been so long and Sherlock couldn't resist. Tuning it quickly Sherlock played a few short songs with tender fingers. He'd lost his calluses ages ago. With a small smile he loosened the strings and put the violin back. John had kept faith with Sherlock and now Sherlock worried more than ever. How would he ever get John to forgive him?

First he needed to find his doctor. Moving swiftly through the flat Sherlock extracted items from here and there, his infallible memory guiding him to one spot after another. He dumped everything on his bed and threw open his wardrobe. Binning his travel clothes Sherlock selected an outfit, laying it out. He found his Belstaff and stroked it longingly. No. That was Sherlock's coat and right now he was still Jaime John.

Sherlock showered, scrubbing away until he was rosy from head to toe. He regretted not getting hair dye to cover the auburn but that would make it easier for Sherlock to track John openly so he just washed his hair and tried not to think about how much he now smelled like John. Being home was having an effect on Sherlock. He could feel his body come alive, his mind sharpen in a way that let him know he had grown dull during his exile. Being home was making all the difference. Being so near the greatest source of John without actually having John was magical. Sherlock even shaved using John's shaving foam and spare razor. He felt better than he had in ages when he was done.

Dressing in his own and very missed clothing Sherlock broke into Mrs Hudson's apartment and ate. He was hungry and who knew when he'd be able to access food again. His face was well known in London. It would take more than hair color to blend in. Sherlock rooted through her makeup kit to see if there was anything useful and made off with an eyebrow pencil, concealer and a light rose stick of lipstick.

There was a gentle rap at the front door and Sherlock froze. He heard a hushed whisper. “Sherlock.” Oh. Mycroft. Sherlock opened the door and Mycroft handed him a brand new phone, a wallet filled with cash, cards and other useful things. He also handed Sherlock a slim folio. “Mr Watson was spotted disembarking in a small village near the west coast. He was alone.”

“How current is this information?” Sherlock scanned the folio. John had gotten on the train and had taken the scenic route to a small tourist town. What was he doing there?

“We pulled the images only a short while ago. CCTV or similar is practically nonexistent. He's in a rural area and I don't have anyone on the ground. He chose well if he planned to hide from us. Not perfectly of course, but well.” Sherlock crooked his head and looked at his brother.

“Why would John want to hide? He doesn't know I'm alive. Is there something I should know? What else have you learned Mycroft. Tell me everything.” Mycroft looked at Sherlock. To see them both one would never suspect the brothers had not seen one another for nearly two years. There was nothing in their demeanor to indicate any feelings of affection. If only Sherlock could have controlled himself so well as he thought of John's possible troubles.

“Do you plan to simply run him down and expect John to welcome you back with open arms?” Sherlock didn't understand Mycroft at all and stared at his brother in confusion. “Sherlock are you clearly aware of the suffering John Watson has endured these last two years? I have never witnessed another person grieve as hard as Doctor Watson grieved for you. Gregory worries constantly for him. Constantly. He tried to kill himself Sherlock. Surely you must understand what that means.”

“I don't expect John to forgive me easily brother. He's a strong proud man and I've completely violated his trust. I know what my bars are. I can only try to overcome them and win John back at all costs. All of this was for him.” Mycroft looked at his brother gravely.

“John Watson is a soldier. You may have become his enemy. Have you considered that Sherlock?” Sherlock looked at his feet.

“Yes. I know I could lose John forever if I haven't already. I know he could hate me for what I had to do but I had NO CHOICE! He has to understand that. I have to get him to understand that and then....”

Mycroft snorter. “You are delusional. You seriously think John is going to welcome you back the second you reveal yourself? This man has been essentially dead for nearly two years. Deader than you, certainly. How do you suppose John is going to feel when he realizes all his suffering was based on a lie?”

Sherlock couldn't look at his brother. He didn't want to hear this even though he'd admitted these fears to himself in the dark of the night. John suffered from trust issues. It had been a difficulty of his well before he had ever met Sherlock. Sherlock had already broken John's trust once. How could John forgive Sherlock so much a second time? Even Phantom John used to fall silent when Sherlock had these thoughts. “John is a good, honorable man. He will let me at least explain. I can't let myself believe otherwise.”

“Good luck brother. Personally I believe you had a greater chance finding Moran than you do of winning John over. I'll start the paperwork to bring you back to life when you return, if you return, with John. He has essentially cleared your name for you, did you realize that? He's been working on it for ages. I'll release all the reports necessary to substantiate his findings. Happy hunting.” Mycroft left, his trademark umbrella in his hand. Sherlock stood there for several minutes before he shook himself and began to work again.

Sherlock reviewed all the CCTV footage Mycroft's team had assembled on John's path that day. Sherlock ran through all of it as quickly as he could. When he got to the footage of the Tube he saw John's arm dart out. He had snapped up brochures. Pausing and using another camera's footage Sherlock determined the brochure. A list of nature walks for tourists? What was John up to? Sherlock allowed himself to enjoy watching John walking before he refocused on looking for clues to John's destination.

John was checking into an inn while Sherlock and Mycroft argued. He was humming with contentment. The train ride had been soothing. A few people had tried to chat with him but John had politely deflected and managed to sit alone. More than one woman and two different men tried to catch his eye but John resolutely watched the landscape.

John just needed to get away from London. He hadn't been out of the city for too long a time. Already he felt better, a little less dour. He'd read a rather detailed brochure earlier and after some judicious phoning about he'd rented a room at a quaint old inn just off the coast. John planned to enjoy the sea breeze and relaxed barefoot in the sand. He was unpacking his bag when he realized he didn't have his mobile. He used his credit card on the hotel phone and called Mrs Hudson's cell. “John Hamish Watson! I've been worried sick. Mycroft was on the sidewalk earlier and he only does that when things have gone pear shaped. What have you done this time young man? Why didn't you tell me you were leaving? Why haven't you answered your calls?”

“Slow down! I tried to tell you but you were out. I meant to call but I had a lovely time just riding the train and I've relaxed for the first time since, well, since you know when. I don't know why Mycroft would have stopped by. I only just realized I left my phone at home. I'm calling from the hotel. Look, I'm going to be gone for a week at most. Can you find my mobile? It must have gotten stuck in the sofa. The charger is on my desk, just plug it in if you find it. I won't be gone forever. I just want to get out of London for a bit.”

“Oh that's lovely John!” John read out the address of where he was rooming and promised to call Mrs Hudson again before he returned home. She trilled at him, “I'm almost back to Baker street dear boy. I'll check for you mobile, don't worry. I was off with Mrs Turner at the opera. We won tickets!” John wished her a good night and went to his room feeing almost alright.

Sherlock was already frustrated and seriously considering his cigarette rule. He'd already had one on the fire-escape. A second one would break the rules. John had gotten off the train at a small station. There were four different routes he could have taken from there, all unmonitored. Either John was on the coast, John had gone further inland into the hills. Sherlock didn't think it likely that John would backtrack toward London and the forth road led to a small fishing port. Sherlock doubted John would go there either but if he had to travel to the port and find out himself he would.

Sherlock stilled. There were footsteps on the landing! A key in the door. Sherlock was frozen to the sofa, clutching his laptop when the door pushed open. Then Mrs Hudson was screaming and Sherlock leaped across the coffee table to comfort her. She screamed louder. “Mrs Hudson! It's me! It's Sherlock. Look!” 

The scream faded away. Sherlock smiled down at the sweet face of the woman he knew felt like a mother to him. How many pots of tea or batches of baked goods had she fed him over the years? Those wrinkle fingers could crimp a crust or bake a cake better than any of the finest pastry shops around. Mrs Hudson stared back at Sherlock and suddenly he was on his knees, his face burning on the left side. Mrs Hudson had struck him! “SHERLOCK HOLMES YOU ARE A VERY BAD BOY!” she screamed and then she burst into tears and hugged him tight.

“Yes Mrs Hudson. I am. Please. I'm sorry. Let me explain, I beg you.” Stiffly Mrs Hudson allowed herself to be guided to John's chair where she sniffled and wept for a minute more. Sherlock sat back and told her absolutely everything.

Mrs Hudson's hands were wringing together. “Assassins? After John and Greg and I? Why? Why would that Moriarty character want to kill us?”

“I care for you. You three are the only three in the world I would do anything for. Moriarty knew this. Mrs Hudson. John is still in danger. I've tried to protect him. I really have. Now he's gone missing and I'm not done protecting him. I don't know where he went.”

She went quiet and still. Sherlock tensed. “Sherlock. John has suffered a great deal because you died. Do you understand what I'm saying? He was a broken man until not too long ago.”

“I do understand Mrs Hudson. You do not. I love John. I came back to be with him, to see if he still loves me the way he used to or if he doesn't to see if I can win his heart back. I know he'll be angry with me. I know I hurt him but no one seems to understand that I HAD NO CHOICE!” Sherlock was bitter with regret. Why did everyone keep telling him how hurt John was. Sherlock was perfectly aware of the devastation his deception had caused. Hurt John was a far better creature than Dead John and it really was that simple. “John may be mad at me forever but he'll be alive to feel that way and that's all that matters in the end. If he never takes me back....”

Mrs Hudson patted his hand. Sherlock thought she was coming to sit by him on the sofa but instead her hand darted between the cushions and pulled out John's mobile. “He forgot it. John called right before I came up. He wanted me to plug his phone in for him. I have the address.”

Sherlock nearly dragged her back to her flat by the arm to get it. Mrs Hudson smacked him with her very heavy London phone book when he finally let go. “Sherlock Holmes behave yourself. I am going to give you John's location and you had better make the very best efforts, the VERY best efforts with John. Don't give up Sherlock. That man loves you more than anything but he will be angry. Terribly angry. Be strong my boy.”

Sherlock gave her one more hug and a kiss before snatching the note away from her and pulling her door open to go upstairs. He nearly ran over DI Lestrade who had his hand in the air as if he had just been about to knock. Lestrade gaped at Sherlock who was trying to push him aside. “Not now Lestrade!” hissed Sherlock.

“JESUS FUCK YOU'RE ALIVE!” For the second time in one night Sherlock found himself on his knees, the left side of his cheek stinging where Lestrade had struck him. Sherlock was hauled unceremoniously to his feet and hugged tight. “You're back! You're alive! Oh my god. John is missing. Sherlock!”

“Thank you Lestrade. Yes John is missing. I'm here to find him. No time to chat. My brother will be more than happy to fill you in....and then fill you in.” Sherlock ended on a note of distaste and Greg flushed crimson. Sherlock ignored the man and pushed past him to go upstairs. Sherlock went to the bathroom and used the make-up he had stolen. Slightly thicker darker brows, a skillful reduction and reshaping of his lips and Sherlock looked like another person. Sherlock grabbed up John's mobile and charger, his haversack which was still unpacked, his new phone, his old phone and shoved his laptop deep inside for good measure. Glancing around the flat Sherlock made a vow to return with John and begin their life anew.

In the end Lestrade drove Sherlock across town discretely so the detective could slink onto a seldom used platform to get on the Tube. While they drove Sherlock gave the DI a condensed explanation. “Really Lestrade it's very simple. Moriarty wanted all of you to die and I did not. I had to die instead so I did. You're safe, Mrs Hudson is safe but JOHN IS NOT SAFE! I'm going to John and if I have to beg on my knees for the rest of my days to get him to forgive me I will!”

There wasn't much Lestrade to say to that so he settled for shaking Sherlock's hand firmly and letting him go. The train ride took forever. Now that he was safely on it Sherlock washed the simple disguise off. People weren't looking for him anyway, not here. Sherlock seated himself in the dining car and forced himself to consume a meal. He'd missed two of them already and was determined to keep his healthy habits up for John. After he settled himself on the less than comfortable seats to nap fitfully through the night. He'd be there in the morning. In the morning Sherlock would see John. He slept.

John on the other hand spent the day strolling the beach and feeling the wind tug at him. The sun came out for a bit so John let it caress his skin as he watched it set. The day had been slow and lazy, John's thoughts nearly still. He went back to the inn and had dinner. Again he was hopefully approached by a mix of men and women since he was sitting alone but John politely deflected once more and managed to finish his meal quietly. He retreated right back to his room. There was a small lounge downstairs where you could get drinks and meet the other patrons but John wasn't interested in that at all. Instead he tucked himself into bed early and fell asleep feeling almost normal for the first time in years.

He'd asked for a courtesy call first thing in the morning and had arranged for his breakfast to be delivered shortly afterward. Showered and refreshed John was pleased to see a full English breakfast on his tray with both tea and coffee as well as the morning paper. John tucked in and unfolded the paper to read as he ate. He nearly choked when he saw the leading story. 

Mycroft had finally released the final report John had worked on and all across London people were learning that Sherlock had been misjudged and reviled unfairly. John felt proud knowing his work had helped clear his lover's name. He felt something in his heart ease just a bit when he looked at the old photo of Sherlock the paper had re-run. The deerstalker hat. John smiled fondly as he remembered how much Sherlock hated that hat. He'd only worn it that one time for less than a minute but somehow it had become an iconic part of the man.

John ate slowly, not paying attention to his food anymore. He felt alright, almost normal for the first time in a long time. Sherlock's reputation had been restored and for John it was the most beautiful news he could have wished for. Maybe now John could work on laying his grief aside and learn to move on properly. He'd have to find a new quest, a new goal but with The Work now occupying him John felt that his life could perhaps be at least a contented one.

John had just finished his very fine coffee when he heard a tap at the door. Room service must be here to collect the tray. Folding the paper John drank the last mouthful of coffee before pulling the door open. John staggered back clutching his chest in shock.

“Hello John.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has just received a shock he was not expecting. Not in a million years.

John fell back. He couldn't breath. He couldn't fucking breath. John's vision went dark and all he could hear was a thunderous pulsing roar in his ears. John's entire body flushed with adrenaline but he was paralyzed. John felt his fingers claw at the carpet on the inn floor. He felt his lungs draw in one massive breath after another but he couldn't think. He couldn't think!

A scent assailed his nose. Sherlock. He could smell Sherlock. That complex scent of smoke and chemicals, dried flowers and silk overpowered John and pain shot through him. His shoulder seized. The pain in his hip flared for the first time in years. Every single part of John seemed super-charged with shocked awareness so extreme that he was in agony.

Sherlock was alive. Sherlock was kneeling beside John, trying to help him up. Sherlock was alive. He was here. He was touching John. Sherlock's hands were on John's and John felt the warmth of his living flesh clearly. Sherlock was alive and they were nearly face to face. Sherlock was alive and his eyes were shining constellations, filled with inhuman joy. Sherlock was alive.

John pulled back his fist and lashed out. Sherlock managed to duck to the side at the last second. Suddenly they were grappling with each other as John tried to throw punch after punch while Sherlock simultaneous tried to get away and restrain John gently. The two men rolled all over the room, fighting back and forth while John shouted wordlessly at Sherlock. Finally John's ability to speak returned, “You lying traitorous bastard. You heartless manipulative fucker! You were DEAD. You DIED! I DIED TOO! I'VE BEEN DEAD FOR ALMOST TWO YEARS AND YOU WERE NOT! YOU LIED! GET AWAY! GET AWAY! GET AWAY!”

John went limp and began to weep like he had the day he had watched Sherlock kill himself. How could Sherlock do this to John? How could he have knowingly made John hurt like that, left him like that, just walked away like that with no warning? John felt himself lifted up and was in Sherlock's arms for the first time. John buried his face in his dead lover's shirt and wept for his loss. He'd never felt it more keenly than he did right then. Sherlock had deceived him.

Sherlock knelt there and cradled John to him gently. His tears were flowing as hard as the doctor's but he forced himself to begin his explanation. “John. Please listen to me. I did not choose to do this. I would never choose to leave you. I did not want to stage my death in front of you. Moriarty set all of us up. All of us. Mycroft, you, Lestrade, everyone. He had me trapped John. Moriarty had assassins on you, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade. He wanted two things. Moriarty wanted me to lose my reputation and when it was too late he wanted me to die. I died or you died. That was the choice I was given and I chose for you to live. I've been working against Moriarty's people all this time John. They didn't know I was alive, couldn't know I was alive. There was no one else who could do it John. Only I had the knowledge and skills needed to take down what Moriarty created. I wanted you with me, I swear I did. If I could have taken you I would have, I would have I swear it. I never wanted to be apart from you John. You have to understand, you have to listen.”

John's head hurt. He felt dazed and nauseated. He regretted his breakfast and suddenly the world seemed to be moving too fast. John realized Sherlock was holding him and jerked away as if burned. On his hands and knees John made it to the unmade bed and crawled in, turning his back to the ghost behind him. John's mind felt scattered and disembodied as if all the parts were no longer working in harmony and he just could not think. Adrenalin still raced through him and he wanted to flee but his body hurt so much he couldn't even walk. He lay there instead, stiff and miserable. Sherlock was alive but Sherlock had hurt John so very much. John tried to focus on what Sherlock had just told him but his heart literally ached with every reluctant beat and the pain was too much to get around.

Sherlock knelt on the floor, the warmth of John's body against his slowly fading as his lover crawled away. Sherlock's shoulders shook with silent sobs as John lay himself down, his movements stilted as if his limbs didn't work right. This was worse than he had imagined. John didn't say anything so Sherlock spoke again. “I made Mycroft watch you for me. I couldn't come back to London. He sent me reports. I needed to protect you John. Please. I'm so sorry this had to happen. I'm so sorry John.”

John didn't move or say a word. He just lay there silent and motionless. Sherlock remained kneeling on the floor and drank in the sight of his love. If this was all he ever got from John Sherlock would not be ungrateful. Time dripped on by as both men listened to the other breath, neither saying a word. Eventually Sherlock realized the John's breathing had become slow and regular. Sherlock bit his lip. John had fallen asleep.

Sherlock crept forward and eased himself cautiously onto the bed. He couldn't stay away, not after all this time. Sherlock made sure he didn't touch John. He didn't have permission to touch John but he could smell him and feel his warmth. For now it was enough.

Sherlock really looked at John. John's body was different. Harder. Leaner. John had always been fit but now Sherlock could easily see why John had been such a good soldier. His physique was amazing. Sherlock filled his eyes with John's magnificence. There was more gray in the doctor's hair but Sherlock found it gave the man quiet dignity and thought it charming. Sherlock's eyes grew heavy and even though he struggle against it he fell asleep.

John was running. He was running and shouting. John was screaming as the body fell slowly downward, almost wafting in the air as Sherlock fell. John wanted to catch Sherlock, to stop his fall, to die with him, to do something that would change what happened next. His eyes! Those vacant dead eyes!

John woke with a start. He was drenched in sweat and uncomfortable in his clothes. He was on his back now and night had fallen. John had slept the whole day away. Suddenly John turned. Sherlock was sleeping beside him. With trembling fingers John touched Sherlock's face. It was warm. He jerked his fingers away. Sherlock's glorious eyes opened. “John?” John reached out and felt the flutter at Sherlock's throat. His heart beat strongly. Sherlock was alive. John pulled his hand back and turned away once more.

Sherlock lay in the darkness and felt his skin burn where John had touched him. A sear of pain made a small burn on his heart as John presented his back once more. Sherlock felt his chest grow tight as he witnessed John rejecting him again. Tears threatened but Sherlock bit them back. His feelings weren't important. Only John was important.

Both men lay there intensely aware of one another. Both men were stressed almost beyond endurance and had been for far too long. Their bodies decided their minds were foolish and relaxed in the company of their lovers. The tension faded and both men succumbed to years of sorrow and exhaustion. They slept.

John stepped over Sherlock as he climbed out of bed the next morning. He didn't say a word, just locked himself in the bathroom. Sherlock lay there and listened to John shower. John was wet and naked only a few feet from Sherlock. It would be nothing at all to get the bathroom door open, to pull aside that thin curtain and see his soldier unclothed. Sherlock's body twitched and responded like it hadn't in all this time. Sherlock bit his lip deliberately hard and willed himself away from arousal. John would never permit it.

John came out. “Go ahead.” Sherlock took his bag into the bathroom and took the fastest shower of his life. He didn't want John to run away while he was in there so only a few minutes passed before he was toweling himself off and redressing. John was waiting. He had his feet planted on the floor and his arms crossed. “I want you to leave.”

“No.”

“I want you to leave Sherlock. Now.”

“No. I won't leave you now. I won't leave you ever again.”

“You are a liar Sherlock Holmes. Leave!”

“You are a stubborn man John Watson but I am worse. I will not leave.”

“You won't leave? Fine. Then I'll leave.” John turned sharply on his heel and began to repack his bag. Sherlock stood there frustrated. He didn't know how to convince John. He'd explained everything hadn't he?

“John please look at me.” Nothing.

“John, please say something.” Nothing.

“John? John, please!” Nothing. John just calmly folded his clothes away and tucked in his bathroom kit. He was zipping up his bag when Sherlock's nerve finally snapped.

It took Sherlock only three steps to reach John and spin him around. It took him only half a second to cup John's face and tilt his head back. It took an eternity to look into John's sweet blue eyes and let him see all the love that Sherlock still felt for him and only an instant before Sherlock's mouth was tasting the doctor's. The world exploded into vibrant life for both of them.

Their arms locked around each other. Their mouths opened and their tongues slid hungrily back and forth as they drank each other in. Both men were nearly fainting from the intensity, their breathing broken and stuttering as the kiss grew tempestuous. A fury of emotions raged through them even as their hands clawed at the other, desperate to bring their lover closer.

Suddenly John shoved Sherlock away. He looked angry and dragged his arm across his mouth. “That was a goodbye. One we should have had two years ago. You ended us then Sherlock. It's over. It's been over for years.”

“Unacceptable. I did not risk everything just to walk away now. I will never leave you John Watson and I will never give up on you.” John glared at Sherlock who accepted his wroth patiently. John snarled at him a bit but Sherlock carried John's bag for him as they checked out of the inn and went back to the train station. Sherlock got their tickets but John wouldn't speak to him. Sherlock sat next to him anyway and just breathed in the doctor. John could be angry all he wanted, as long as he stayed alive. “I will not give up on us.”

John swiveled in his seat and looked at Sherlock directly. “There is no fixing this. It's not some case you can solve with your massive intellect and stubborn nature. You can't make this right. You can't take back the pain, the betrayal or the last two years. So don't bother. It's over. I don't want this anymore. Stay away.”

Sherlock looked away and set his jaw. Let John rail. Sherlock deserved it. Let John make proclamations. Sherlock would listen. Sherlock would allow John to do whatever he pleased but Sherlock was not going to give up. Someway, somehow Sherlock was going to get his man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's on folks.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has revealed himself and John did not take it well. What will happen to our star-crossed lovers now?

It had been two weeks. Two weeks of stubborn silence and cold shoulders. Two long painful weeks of avoidance and awkward publicity. Sherlock was famous. His return from the dead had rocked London. Reporters had hounded the men for days before Mycroft made some threats and the tides receded. John was mad at Sherlock. Sherlock accepted it. John refused to talk to Sherlock but Sherlock didn't stop talking to John.

Sherlock and John were locked in a battle of wills. If John did speak to Sherlock it was normally to tell him to leave which Sherlock would instantly refuse to do. John would stalk away and lock himself in his room for a while and then the cold silences would begin again. John was very, very mad.

Sherlock squared his shoulders and took it all in stride. His John deserved his anger. Sherlock was determined to woo John back no matter what it took. It had been two years of separation so two weeks of anger were a small price to pay for the privilege of seeing John every single day. Sherlock sustained himself with John's continued presence. Each time John demanded he leave Sherlock's heart bled a bit but he would simply draw himself up firmly and refuse. Nothing would part him from John ever again.

John was FURIOUS. He could barely look at Sherlock. Every time he did John felt the rage inside him escalate until he wanted to howl, give into the madness and destroy the man. Instead John would grit his teeth and walk away until the rage subsided and John could contain himself for a while longer. He couldn't speak to Sherlock. He was too hurt. Nothing John could say could possibly make Sherlock understand what John had gone through. Sherlock didn't have the ability to understand. He wasn't wired the right way.

John went to visit Mrs. Hudson as an excuse to keep away from Sherlock. She was happy to see him, fluttering and bubbling all over her kitchen as she made tea and fussed over John. “Such a shock to see him, bless his clever heart! Oh John things are going to be so wonderful. Isn't it marvelous?”

John stared at her. What was she talking about? “It's not marvelous. It's horrible. He's alive Mrs. Hudson. He tricked us, lied to us. He went away on purpose and left me broken and alone. There's nothing wonderful about that.”

Mrs. Hudson stopped fluttering. John was surprised to see her face harden. “John Watson! Your ingratitude is shocking. Sherlock sacrificed everything that mattered to him to save us. How do you not see this? His professional reputation? He could have sorted that out before that Moriarty person died but he didn't. Choosing to kill himself rather than let us die? That sounds rather romantic and wonderful to me. He was a knight on a quest to save his love. How is that not marvelous?”

John didn't really see it that way but for the first time there was a crack in the anger he had felt since Sherlock came back to life. That in and of itself made him mad all over again. He wasn't ready to forgive Sherlock. Bidding Mrs. Hudson goodnight John stomped upstairs and shut himself away for the night to stew.

John's screams woke him up. He had dreamed of the Fall again. Once more he had seen Sherlock's body tumble and fall through the air helpless to dash itself open on the pavements. John screamed and screamed and screamed until he'd jerked himself from sleep. Staggering from the bed John made his way to Sherlock's room. Pushing the door open quietly John stepped softly until he could reach over and lay his hand on Sherlock's shoulder. Warm.

A shuddering breath released John's terror and he almost wept. Sherlock wasn't dead. He was very alive and John could feel him. Sherlock's hand suddenly covered his and John jumped with surprise. “NO!” he shouted and bolted. He didn't know why he had run. It had been too sudden after the shock of the dream and John had just reacted. Laying in his bed John couldn't sleep for the rest of the night and his hand burned with the memory of Sherlock's touch.

The next night John went out with Greg. He hit on every woman he came across but his magic had deserted him. Greg finally made him just sit and drink his pint. “I don't get you mate. Sherlock is back but you're out tonight trying to pull some stranger? What is going on?”

“It's over between us Greg. It ended two years ago when Sherlock decided everything for us and left me in tiny pieces while he ran around the world being a hero.” Greg looked purely astounded.

“Do you think Sherlock was having a grand old time out there? He wasn't. I made Mycroft tell me. Sherlock was crazed with worry for you John. He made Mycroft divert government resources to keep tabs on you just so he could do what he needed to do. Sherlock has been working this same case day in and day out for nearly two years John! Two years of Sherlock being shuttled off from one crappy hotel room to another, always in danger, always alone. He kept us alive doing that! What is wrong with you John?” Greg was almost shouting at John and John stared stubbornly at his drink. A second crack appeared in his anger and John got mad all over again.

“Why does everyone want me to just throw my hands in the air and give in? You pulled the gun from my mouth yourself Greg. I wanted to die. I was as good as dead for nearly two fucking years. How do I get passed that? How do I ever trust him again? Sherlock broke my heart so badly I wonder if I even have one anymore!” John glowered at Greg who glowered back. Both men set their mouths in mutinous lines. Greg picked up his mobile and punched in a message then drank his pint in silence while John fumed.

Ten minutes later Mycroft arrived. John rolled his eyes and swore under his breath. Mycroft stood by the table and handed John a file of papers. “Read.” he commanded. John couldn't help himself and looked over the information he had been given.

A list of international companies, all of them now defunct. A chart of international crime, the rate stupendously decreased. A sheaf of pictures of Sherlock looking wan and exhausted, the photos taken in dozens of cities. He was wearing John's missing jumper in several of them. Another one showed Sherlock in a teeshirt, a glint of metal at this throat. John peered closer. His dogtags! Sherlock had worn John's favors. John couldn't take it. He dropped the file and fled the pub.

John walked until his hip ached so much he needed to get a taxi back to Baker Street. He limped painfully into the flat. Sherlock was nowhere to be seen, his bedroom door firmly shut but the light showed the man moving back and forth. John took some pain relievers and just went to bed. His head hurt. His heart hurt. His hip hurt. His soul hurt. John slept.

Once again the night was shattered with John's screams. The soldier fell from his blankets to crouch on the floor, nearly sick with terror and anxiety. He stumbled to his feet as he had now done so many nights and made his way once again to Sherlock's room. He reached his trembling hand out and let it rest on Sherlock's shoulder. It wasn't enough. He let his fingers slide up Sherlock's sleeve until he made his way to Sherlock's throat. He took the man's pulse and nearly wept all over again as it throbbed powerfully. “John?” whispered Sherlock.

Sherlock heard John's screams and forced himself to remain still. Sure enough he heard the stumbling footfalls of the terrified man as John came to check Sherlock once again. Sherlock was growing used to it. Nearly every night now had John creeping his way to Sherlock to see if his nightmare was true or not. Sherlock hadn't tried to reach out after that first disastrous time.

“Don't say anything. I don't want to hear it.” John's voice was harsh and Sherlock flinched away.

“How can I remain silent when you're still hurting John? How can I make it better if you won't look at me, won't listen to me? John? How....” Sherlock had been speaking softly, pleading.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP AND DON'T SAY ANYTHING!” roared John. Both men snapped. It was too much. Words began to fly back and forth.

“You are the heartless one John Watson!”

“You are a lying ARSE Sherlock Holmes.”

“YOU HAVE A MARTYR COMPLEX BIGGER THAN ENGLAND!” yelled Sherlock.

“YOU ARE A SOULLESS SHIT! I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU WANT!”

“YOU KNOW WHAT I WANT! YOU WON'T LISTEN TO REASON!”

“WHAT REASON IS GOOD ENOUGH TO EXPLAIN WHAT YOU DID YOU DECEITFUL FUCK!”

“YOU WON'T EVEN GIVE ME A CHANCE! YOU ARE BEING DELIBERATELY CRUEL JOHN WATSON!”

John hissed out a hate filled whisper, “Cruel? Me? I risked everything to be with you and you walked away every time things got a tiny bit too much. You could have told me, given me a clue, left me a message. You didn't. You decided for both of us and I paid the price for you. Now after everything you've put me through I'm just supposed to lay back and take it? I don't fucking think so.”

Sherlock stood tall. He glared at John, fully angry for the first time. Turning on his heel Sherlock grabbed his coat and left the flat while John shouted abuse down the stairs, “RUN LIKE YOU ALWAYS DO SHERLOCK FUCKING HOLMES!”

Sherlock only got two blocks before a long sleek car pulled up beside him. Mycroft didn't say a word. He handed Sherlock a large envelope instead. Sherlock opened it. Pictures of John. They weren't the ones Sherlock had seen before, the ones he had lived for all those long lonely months. These were worse.

John weeping. John laying listlessly on the sofa. John starving slowly as he lost his ability to eat, to function. The last one rocked Sherlock. John kneeling on his bedroom floor, his Sig in his mouth and an open-mouthed Lestrade right behind him. “Gregory got there literally in the nick of time. Lucky for you I had the entire flat wired. Go back to John Sherlock. You can make this right.”

John didn't know what to think after Sherlock ran. He felt vindicated and horrible. Even as he shouted his insults John knew he was the one driving Sherlock away. He couldn't seem to stop himself. There was something the matter with John, there was something broken inside him that wouldn't let him feel anything positive. The flat was painfully quiet as he retreated to his room.

Sherlock came home. John heard his leaden steps climb the stairs and steeled himself when Sherlock knocked on his door. Not waiting for permission Sherlock pushed his way in. He startled John by sinking to the floor on his knees. “John. John I am begging for your forgiveness. I am on my knees pleading for it. I did not want to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you. I didn't want to leave you. It cut at me to have to do so and I have been bleeding ever since. I missed you John, so very much. I can't tell you what you mean to me. I love you John Watson, more than I did before because I learn to love you more each and every day. I did what I did for you John. I won't lose you, I won't. If it takes the rest of my days, even if you hate me every minute along the way I will never stop trying to show you how much I love you. I never want to be apart from you John. You are the only person in the world who matters anymore. You love me too. I know it. I know it! If you didn't you would have left by now and you haven't. I love you and you love me so please John. Please. Can we please fix this somehow?”

Sherlock kept his head bowed the whole time he spoke. Tears dripped down his alabaster cheeks and his hands shook. John felt like someone had struck him a heavy blow as he witnessed his lover beg on his knees. Sherlock held something out. A wallet. He slid it across the floor and set it by John's feet. Then Sherlock got up and walked out of the room. John heard him go to the living room and then there was silence.

John picked the wallet up. It was worn and plain, a street-market wallet, badly made but well used. There were a few wrinkled Euros sticking out of it. John opened it and his mouth fell open when he saw the IDs inside. All of them had pictures of Sherlock but the name. The name.

Jaime John.

I love John.

Sherlock had wandered the earth alone fighting for him and had worn John's jumper, John's dogtags and even John's name. Another crack sheared through the anger and shattered it. All of it fell away and John felt empty. He sat there and let the emptiness consume him.

Sherlock sat on the sofa. He was trying to get into his mind palace but the doors were firmly shut. He hammered at them, tried to prise them open but he couldn't. Time flitted by and Sherlock's body grew stiff from being in the same pose for hours. He felt the sofa dip and John's warmth beside him. Sherlock opened his eyes.

“Sherlock. You're right. I haven't been fair. I've been cruel and stubborn. Thank you for everything you did. It cost a lot but I see it was necessary. Sherlock. I don't know where to begin to forgive you. I was very hurt for a very long time. Maybe I'm just in the habit of feeling pain. I don't know if I can trust you again and that makes me want to lash out so hard. Maybe I'll never forgive, maybe I'll never trust you again. What I will do is love you. I never stopped loving you. I love you Sherlock, no matter what.”

Sherlock let his tears fall freely but said nothing. Instead he reached out a shaking hand and waited. The seconds trickled by like hours but then John reached his hand out. Their fingers laced together and both of them felt their hearts begin to beat a little easier. Sherlock looked at John with his heart in his eyes. John had a faint smile and Sherlock made a promise, “If it takes forever my beloved John, I will wait.”

There was hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is finally willing to give Sherlock a tiny bit of a chance. Finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case the tags did not catch your eye brace yourselves for some naughtiness, but good naughtiness.

It wasn't easy but now that John had managed to defuse the anger that had dogged him things between he and Sherlock began to get a little easier. Conversations began haltingly, at first merely politely mouthed conventions until bit at a time they were able to speak almost easily with one another.

Both men couldn't get enough of being close to one another. They held hands a lot but that was as far as they went. It was easier than talking. Sherlock refused to let go even in public and that made John warm inside as Sherlock flaunted their developing relationship to the world. He had held John's hand during every public address and John had stood proud at his shoulder as Sherlock gave his official statement to the press. Afterward he shielded John from the mass of reporters trying to secure a private interview. 

The detective was courteous and gentle with his soldier. He tended John faithfully and never let a day go by without telling John how much he loved him and how thankful he was that John allowed him to stay by his side. Sherlock would have loved to do more. He was aching for another kiss. One after two years was no where near enough and John had gotten quite testy with Sherlock after that. Sherlock wanted a better kiss. He didn't pressure John, didn't try to ask for more. He just accepted whatever scraps the doctor was willing to dribble his way and was thankful for even that much. John could still be angry and not talking to him. This was much, much better.

John himself was still skittish around Sherlock. Though they had declared their feelings for one another John couldn't make himself let Sherlock get closer. Hand holding was as much as John could deal with. He knew Sherlock wanted to kiss him and most times John wanted the same. He just didn't know how to make himself let go of the distrust that still shackled him. He was grateful for Sherlock's patience though. Bit at a time John relaxed around his lover.

They began to do The Work together and that helped. Sherlock had been surprised one night when John received an urgent call from the Yard. Someone had been shot in a high-rise apartment. The door had been bolted from the inside and of course, everyone was baffled. John got up immediately and pulled on his coat. He looked at Sherlock, “Coming?” Sherlock though his face would split in two. He smiled down at John and pulled on his Belstaff to follow after his doctor, letting John take the lead in all things.

They had several cases on the go. All were the same. All had been shot in impossible locations. Each person had absolutely no connection to the others except for how they died, all by gunshot and all in locked rooms. There was no physical evidence except for the bullet that was lodged right in their hearts. By the third one Sherlock grimly realized what was going on. All impressive kills from extreme distances. Sebastian Moran. He was telling Sherlock John wasn't safe.

No one except Mycroft knew that Moran had been assigned to kill John. John could not know he was being targeted again! The man was only just starting to relax. If John knew he was being hunted he would be keyed up and useless to the investigations. Sherlock hated to keep a secret from John but he couldn't hurt John again by making him worry when there was nothing to be done anyway.

Sherlock fretted instead. He worried for John all the time. He was half-prepared to drag John away from windows and tried not to peer around anxiously when they were out. One night Sherlock couldn't bear being alone in the dark a single moment more. He crept up the stairs and entered John's room. Moving cautiously he slid beneath John's blankets, careful not to touch the sleeping man and simply lay there soaking in the heat of him.

John rolled over, his arm falling to the side and striking Sherlock. John woke up. “Sherlock?” John was fuzzy with sleep. When his arm touched Sherlock he had been jolted awake. He could feel the heat of the detective's long hard body. Sherlock tensed and seem ready to bolt at the slightest word but suddenly John couldn't keep himself away any more. It had been so long and his demon was mere inches away. He curled into Sherlock who's arms closed instantly around John, holding him tenderly. “Sherlock?” he asked in a whispered.

“I love you so much John.” Sherlock whispered back, his voice aching with want. At first John was uncertain but he couldn't help but respond to the need he heard in Sherlock's words. He felt the same need. It was time to begin moving forward. John tilted his head encouragingly and Sherlock kissed his darling doctor eagerly. Their lips met and held softly together. For John the moment was magical and perfect. He moaned and suddenly Sherlock had him pressed to the mattress, both men doing their very best to consume the other. The sullen spark between them had flared, then leaped, then roared back into life.

John's body fit perfectly against Sherlock's. Their legs wound together as they strained to get closer. John had his hands in Sherlock's curls, keeping Sherlock's mouth glued to his. He tasted wonderful. John couldn't stifle his next moan and heard it echoed back from Sherlock. Sherlock was as lean and spare as John recalled. He found himself grinding his hips upward and gasped as he felt himself grow rigid and throbbing. “Jesus Christ I haven't gotten hard since the last time we were together.” gasped John.

Sherlock ground his hips down against John, his voice deep and growly. His erection was as steely as John's and it dug into John's hip as Sherlock moved. “Me either. Only for you John. It's always been only for you.”

“Oh fuck!” John needed to feel Sherlock. They pushed and pulled, trying to remove each other's clothing to get as much skin on skin contact as possible. Both men were panting. Sherlock was nearly whining as he ripped his shirt away in frustration. His mind was shorting out and he didn't care. John was very nearly naked in front of him and for the first time since he died Sherlock's body was rock hard and aching. John was also in a very flattering state of crazed arousal.

They attacked each other or at least that's what it looked like. Both men bit and clawed at one another as their bodies twined and heaved. Both men wanted to touch, to taste, to feel every bit of flesh they'd been denied all this lonely time. John sucked a brilliant bruise to Sherlock's neck and Sherlock held John's head in place the entire time, his body bucking and grinding helplessly as John made his mark.

Sherlock finally wrenched his head away, holding John's good shoulder with his hand so he could lick and kiss his way down John's chest. John was breathing hard already, his cock jutting up, demanding attention. Sherlock gave it. As soon as he could make his way down far enough Sherlock bent his head and for the first time he tasted John. Sherlock's eyes fluttered shut. John was heavenly. The salty tang of his flavor, the bitterness. It was ambrosia to Sherlock. The heft and weight of John fit perfectly in Sherlock's mouth, the head of his cock bumping pleasantly against the back and roof as Sherlock's head bobbed slowly. He wasn't in a rush anymore. Sherlock would be willing to do this forever. It was bliss.

Sherlock regretted not doing this before. John had pleasured Sherlock carefully, tenderly. He'd been gentle with the detective, allowed him to dictate the speed and pace of their progression. Sherlock now wished he had been bolder. He made a mental note to try and go down on John as often as the doctor would allow. Only a few minutes went by when he heard panic in John's voice, “Sherlock. Baby. I'm gonna come.” John had just called Sherlock baby. A pet name. Nothing could have removed Sherlock then. John groaned and suddenly Sherlock's mouth was filled with come. He swallowed the warm thick liquid reflexively and kept moving slower and slower until John's orgasm faded.

When Sherlock first kissed John the soldier became wild with barely retrained lust. His body had gone from non-responsive to teenage boy in about two minutes. His erection simply ached and he didn't want to stop kissing Sherlock ever. When John made his way to Sherlock's neck he could not resist leaving a message for anyone who dared look. “Mine.” Sherlock's fingers tangled as best they could in John's short hair as the tall man held John to him, both men satisfied with the proceedings.

When Sherlock held John down his first instinct was to push back. Then he realized Sherlock was being aggressive in bed for the first time and stopped himself from hindering Sherlock's passion. When Sherlock began to lick and kiss at John John's brain shut down and his entire world focused on Sherlock's mouth around his cock.

Sherlock was entirely unskilled. He had no idea what he was doing but he was enjoying himself and John was going insane anyway. Sherlock's mouth was hot and wet. He also didn't seem to mind when John thrust a bit, not pulling back or gagging even once. If anything Sherlock moaned approvingly. John couldn't pull away when he felt his balls tighten up and the heat pool low in his belly. As clumsy as he was it was still Sherlock Holmes sucking on John's cock. Barely able to warn Sherlock in time John was suddenly gasping and emptying himself into Sherlock's mouth.

The orgasm was almost painful. It flared hot and briefly and when it faded John found that his lust had abated not a hair. He maneuvered himself away from Sherlock's hungry mouth and pulled the detective up to kiss him urgently. He tasted himself on Sherlock's lips and licked if off while Sherlock grinned wickedly. “I like your come in my mouth.” he told John.

“I like my come in your mouth too.” smiled John. Sherlock smiled and flushed a bit. “It was good. Very good.”

“I need practice.” said Sherlock artlessly. “If you'll let me.”

John grinned as wickedly as Sherlock as he pretended to consider it. “I suppose. Just to help you though.”

“Oh of course John. I appreciate it.” teased Sherlock back. Both men were smiling and still rutting gently together. Sherlock got serious. “I really do appreciate it.”

John kissed Sherlock and couldn't get enough of tasting him. With a gentle nudge from John both men switched places. “What do you want Sherlock.” asked John huskily as he kissed Sherlock's chest. Sherlock was panting softly.

“I don't know John. Everything. Anything.” that earned Sherlock a searing kiss and a hand rubbing suggestively up and down his turgid length.

“What if I said I wanted to suck you till you came in my mouth and then fuck you so hard you can't walk tomorrow?” Sherlock growled deep in his chest as he listened to John's offer.

“I think I forgot how to speak.” groaned Sherlock. John laughed softly and began to nip and kiss his way downward while Sherlock gasped his name and moaned. “I'm yours John. Do anything you want with me.”

Now John was the one groaning as he devoured Sherlock. He had missed this. For some reason hearing that Sherlock's body had been as deactivated as John's while they were separated made the doctor feel better about the suffering he endured. Now that Sherlock had relieved some of the tension in John his thoughts were clearer, less angry. As John began to move his head in slow deliberate motions he closed his eyes and began to accept that Sherlock had done something difficult when he'd left John and he had done it for love.

Hearing Sherlock's deep voice become gravelly and needy alerted John's cock that there had been a serious lack of activity for far too long and one quick blow job just wasn't going to cut it. John waited, loving how out of control Sherlock was becoming. John had to keep his hand wrapped around the base of Sherlock's cock to keep the man from just ramming it down John's throat. Desperate little whimpers began to fill the air and if John had been able to he would have grinned. “JOHN!” cried Sherlock suddenly. John's throat worked convulsively to take in everything Sherlock was giving him. Sherlock collapsed weakly on the bed, arms and legs everywhere.

John leaned over and yanked his dresser open. It had been ages and he wasn't sure. He pawed anxiously through the jumble that seemed ever present in all bedside drawers and finally found a small box. It was filled with small foil packets of lube. There was a bottle too but the contents had long since said goodbye from disuse. John dumped the entire handful on the bed. “How many times are we going to have sex?” asked Sherlock weakly.

“Till we can't stay awake a second longer.” said John immediately. Sherlock smiled lazily and spread his legs as wide as he could. John appreciated the access. “Thanks love.”

John knelt back and leaned forward long enough to give Sherlock a quick hot kiss. John's erection had mostly returned but the urgency wasn't as desperate. Sherlock's body was already pliant from his orgasm but John still tried not to hurry. Sherlock was of a different opinion. “Just do it John.”

“I'm going to hurt you if I do. I want to have a lot of sex Sherlock, not put you out of commission on our first night.” snapped John. Both men stared at each other and then started laughing. “Oh god. I just don't want to hurt you by rushing. Come here sweetheart.”

John lay forward on Sherlock and they kissed for several loving minutes. Soon enough though John's hand wandered down and began to tease Sherlock. The dark haired man fumbled over and grabbed up a packet. Opening it carefully he squeezed some onto John's fingers then spread his legs wide once more. Both men enjoyed every step. John was teasing and Sherlock was wanton. Both men kissed and caressed every bit of the other they could reach, crudely encouraging each other to do more, take more.

Finally John was poised over Sherlock, both men heated and barely restrained. The kiss they shared was dark and hungry. Sherlock reached down and positioned John, “Now.” he moaned. John pushed forward steadily and Sherlock keened as he was filled. “Yes! Oh god yes! John. My John.”

“Sherlock. Mine. Missed you. Love you Sherlock. Always. Need you!” John was hanging onto control by a thread. He snapped his hips and Sherlock moaned deeply and begged for more. John gave it to him. He began slowly. It had been a very long time and Sherlock had only been entered on a single occasion. John really did not want to hurt his lover but fuck it felt so good!

Sherlock was tight. His body responded naturally, completely devoid of artistry, pure and beautiful. Each cry John pulled from him, each toss of those delightful curls, each time Sherlock bit his lip was a triumph for John. No one else could do this to Sherlock. Only John. Sherlock was made for one man and one man only. Him. John was finally really aware of the unbelievable miracle he had been given. Tears fell as he kissed Sherlock messily. “I love you Sherlock. I love you. I missed you so fucking much.”

“John. Beautiful John. Perfect John. So good! Ah! I missed you too. Love you so much. Hurt to be away. Forgive me sweet John. I love you. I love you. I'm yours. Always. Always always.” John felt the pain and pleasure twine together as his heart began to knit together. It wouldn't be easy but somehow John was sure he and Sherlock would find a way through.

Sherlock grew long and hard swiftly. Now each rough thrust from John made Sherlock's cock bounce against his hard belly. “It's fantastic. Fucking fantastic.” panted Sherlock. John nodded stiffly. He was hunched over Sherlock, his hips beginning to drive inward fast and steady. “I want you to come in me John. Don't wait. I want it.”

With a groan John stopped holding back. He'd been on the edge already but Sherlock's encouragement pushed him right over the edge. “Sherlock!” he gritted out as he began to spasm and jerk. “Fuck yes. Oh god yes. FUCK YES!” John was holding himself up on his hands, his body now moving smoothly as he rolled his hips through his orgasm. It felt so right to come in Sherlock like this. His tight passage took John in beautifully, John's come now making him slicker than ever. Panting a bit John pulled away and weakly straddled Sherlock.

“John?” John's chest was still heaving but he tugged at Sherlock's hand and guided it to John's ass. “You sure?” John nodded, still speechless. Sherlock rolled them both over and kissed John tenderly, letting him catch his breath as Sherlock picked up a second packet. He wanted this. Oh god did he ever.

So did John. He now helped Sherlock slick his fingers and spread himself open for the detective. Sherlock was careful but moved as quickly as he could. John was impatient too and Sherlock wasn't totally sure the man was ready but John finally just ordered Sherlock to hurry up and fuck him already. “Wait. Switch.” demanded John suddenly. “I want to ride you.”

Sherlock wasn't going to argue. He had been hoping for no more than a kiss tonight and now he'd come once already and was rounding towards another orgasm at high speed. They repositioned each other as quickly as they could. Sherlock slicked his cock generously. He was much bigger than John. Logically he knew they could do it since they had already done so once before. Sherlock didn't want to hurt John at all and he worried just a bit. John didn't. As soon as he was positioned John bore down. Sherlock almost came on the spot. “Close already John. Wait.”

John held himself very still, both men adjusting and bracing themselves. Sherlock nodded and John began to roll his hips again. It was fucking amazing. Sherlock's eyes rolled back and his whole body turned into one giant nerve ending. John may have been the one impaled on his lover but he had total control. John pinned Sherlock's wrists next to his head, his hips beginning to drive faster. “I need this Sherlock. I want your come in me. I want my come on you. I'm making you mine, you understand. Mine.”

Sherlock nodded. He understood and accepted. He was John's. Entirely. He would give John anything he wanted. John deserved everything. It felt glorious being taken. It felt right to have John own him. The world was a good and loving place once more. John was stroking himself and that wasn't right so Sherlock batted his hands away and took over. “John. Soon. Ready?”

John understood the words Sherlock could barely gasp out. “Sherlock. Go. Coming. Coming!” Sherlock began to orgasm as John's come covered his fist. Both men were calling out in thick ragged voices, their groans louder than ever as they shook and trembled. John slumped forward afterward and Sherlock slipped out of him as gently as he could. “M'sleeping here.” mumbled John from on top of Sherlock's chest.

“Okay.” replied Sherlock, his eyes already closed. John didn't answer. He was already asleep. Sherlock thought that was a fine idea. He nudged John's legs down so he wasn't kneeling anymore, allowing the smaller man to just lay on him. Sherlock also managed to tug a sheet over both of them before he lost consciousness, a smile remaining on his face throughout the night.

They were in love again and it was beautiful. Sherlock and John spent the next few days in a pinkish haze of love and desire. Mrs Hudson just giggled and teased them both about staying hydrated, cautioning them to lock their door if they wanted privacy. Sherlock continued his plan to woo John and took him out for romantic dinners, long sweet walks in the park and played love songs on the violin for his soldier. John seemed incredibly happy and Sherlock was humbled.

They were working with the Yard again. Another case came up, this one a deliberate message. The victim was a medium sized blond. He was ex-army and had lived alone in a small flat. The angle of the shot led them to a building a remarkable distance away but the powder burns on a window sill was all the proof they needed. Later that night in bed Sherlock turned to John. “I know who it is.”

“How? You do? Who is it?” Sherlock explained about Sebastian Moran. He explained how he was Moriarty's right hand man and that Sherlock had tried to find and kill Moran to save John. John's frown grew slowly until the smaller man looked stony and furious once again. “You're telling me all these people are dead because of me? That this sick fuck has been gunning for me all this fucking time and you didn't tell me? Sherlock! This is exactly the kind of shit I thought we weren't doing anymore! This is why I don't trust you! You arbitrarily choose to lie to me about things that seriously affect me!”

Sherlock felt the air whoosh out of him. “You still don't trust me? John? I thought you had forgiven me. I thought things were better.”

“Forgiven you? When did I say that? Just because we fucked doesn't mean I've forgiven you Sherlock. Not by a long shot.” John was angry. He felt betrayed again, like Sherlock thought him too weak or ignorant to understand the seriousness of the problem.

Sherlock was incredibly upset. The last few days had been pure heaven for Sherlock because he had mistakenly thought John had finally forgiven Sherlock for what he'd had to do. It was so unfair. Sherlock's heart ached again and he felt that drip inside that told him he was bleeding again. “John. I've tried to be honest. How can I tell you anything? Each time I tell you the truth you PUNISH me!” 

Sherlock couldn't bear the anger in John's face. His eyes filled with frustrated tears and his throat hurt. He needed water so he sat up. “Running again Sherlock? Go right ahead, I won't stop you. I want you to just fucking go like I first asked you.” John rolled out of bed and stalked away, stiff and furious. Sherlock heard John's bedroom door slam. He lay there in the growing coldness and let the tears flow as they would.

John stayed mad all the next day. Sherlock tried to talk to him but John refused to look at Sherlock, refused to respond. Sherlock ordered dinner in from John's favorite restaurant and watched it grow cold on the table. Sherlock was tearing his hair out. John was acting like he wasn't even there!

Sherlock cracked. He couldn't take John hating him like this. Sherlock needed to get away, breath the air and just clear his head. He was winding his scarf around his neck when John stamped downstairs. He demanded to know where Sherlock was going. Sherlock ignored him, his face grim. “You don't care John. I'm trying and you aren't. I'm going John. Just like you want.”

Sherlock left. He received a text from Lestrade so he went to the Yard. His mobile chimed over and over again with first pleading then angry messages from John. Sherlock ignored all of them. One of the last ones read, “Where the fuck are you???”

“Case. STAY HOME. Not safe. STAY PUT – SH” There were no more texts after that. Sherlock raged his way through the crime scene. Anyone who caught his attention suffered for it. Three aggravating hours later Lestrade pulled him aside and demanded to know what was going on and where John was.

“He's at home. He doesn't trust me Lestrade. Still! He hasn't forgiven me. Still! I don't know what to do. I'm trying, I'm really trying.” Sherlock was angry at John. He wanted to go back to the warm lovely feeling he had just yesterday.

Greg sounded exasperated but fond when he spoke,“Sherlock come on now. You haven't even been back long enough to unpack your bag. John's going to be skittish for a while. He's feels abandoned, don't you get it? You left him behind no matter what the reason and he's afraid it's going to happen again. He's going to overreact for a while before he settles down. You have to be patient.”

Sherlock's frustrated anger evaporated. Less than a month ago Sherlock would have happily sawed his own leg off if it meant keeping John safe and happy. Greg was right, John needed Sherlock to stay strong and have faith that things would heal between them. He couldn't afford impatience. Running off to work alone tonight was the worst choice Sherlock could have made. What was wrong with him? Sherlock texted John. “Coming home. I'm sorry - SH” There was no answer but Sherlock didn't expect there to be. John was probably mad again and he deserved to be. Sherlock had been an idiot again.

Walking briskly Sherlock left the crime scene behind. The Yard would have to do it's own job for once. Sherlock had to get back to John and keep working on fixing things. John had every right to his anger, Sherlock had to learn to bear his ire until John had worked his way through it. Sherlock just needed to be patient which admittedly he wasn't very good at, but for John he would try harder than ever.

A black car slid up and Sherlock cursed. He didn't need to deal with Mycroft's requests tonight! “Not now Mycroft, not unless you want to bring me right back to Baker Street. I need to speak to John.”

“That's why I'm here Sherlock.” Sherlock examined his brother. Mycroft was deadly serious. All games were suspended because something incredibly Not Good had happened. “Sherlock John was taken a short while ago. I've got everyone activated already but there's this.”

Mycroft extended an elegant hand. He was holding a torn sheet of Sherlock's sheet music. On the back was a handwritten message."Couldn't stay dead, could you Sherlock? Well you'll know what that feels like soon enough. After all, I do have your heart now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a moment it was almost a happy ending. Stay tuned for the next totally not angsty except for the bits that are FINAL installment "Hard to Breathe"


End file.
